


Walk It Off

by Riachinko



Category: The World's End (2013)
Genre: Angst, Cutting, Emotional Baggage, Hurt/Comfort, Kind Of Explicit, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-23 09:51:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21318223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riachinko/pseuds/Riachinko
Summary: Andy recounts around the fire, the time he and Gary boned. Smut based on the end monologue, please forgive me Andy (º̩̩́⌣º̩̩̀ʃƪ)
Relationships: Gary King/Andy Knightley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	Walk It Off

Towards the end of it, for a little while, I thought maybe the world's end wasn't so bad. After the Network pulled out, the resulting field fires went on for miles, and blocked our path back to London. 

We were trapped just outside of Newton Haven until the smoke and flames died down, so we tried to make the best of a bummy situation, setting up camp when we got tired; testing what we remembered as Scouts. Turned out Steven was quite the marksman, and we relied on him for anything that wasn't processed and full of preservatives. 

In the early days of Armageddon, you were still mostly able to find what you needed in town. Gary would leave time and again to go pillaging. Sometimes Steven went too. I tagged along a time or two as well, but as the looters began to get desperate for supplies, things got a bit too hairy for me, and I think Steven agreed: he began to hang back more and more. 

Gary was loving it though. 

He'd come back baring what gifts he could carry, outside of what we needed: sweaters and dry shampoo for Sam, Jaffacakes for me. He brought Steven a proper Rolex once, though it's still up in the air whether or not it was working when Gary found it.

It was the thought that counts, I'd come to understand. 

Because Gary suddenly was thinking about people other than himself. 

He wasn't living in the past, because the present was so undeniably _ fucked_\-- how could he deny that we couldn't relive our youth now? This was before the Blanks woke up; before we knew that was even a possibility. For all we knew, the world really was at its end, and for a while, we were living our lives as fully as we could - given the circumstances - all four of us. 

It was Sam and Steven. 

It was Gary and me. 

  
  


  
  


He came to me in what passed as my room in the abandoned barn we'd shacked up in - a horse's stall several doors opposite the one Sam and Steven shared. For the first several nights, Gary would climb up into the rafters and pass out alone, but now here he was with a bottle of champagne that he'd grabbed from some poor bastard's home in Newton Haven. 

He had it hidden behind his back at first. 

"Eyy!" he cheered. It was enough to bring a smile to my face - not much else did these days. "Found a path clear 'round Eldridge. I think if you wanted to, we could…"

He trailed off, then. Talk of the future made him a bit squiffy. 

"...You might be able to get to London if you walk it."

"_I_ might?" 

The wording was deliberate. I knew it, and he knew it, but for the time being, neither of us mentioned it further. That's when he sat - more like fell - down on the haystack beside me, smelling of Lynx body spray he'd picked up the week prior, desperately trying to cover the embedded smell of dirt and smoke and sweat. 

"Tada!" he said, showcasing the bottle with one hand while he held the neck of it with the other. 

"Now I know you _ don't drink,_" he mocked, "but a full untouched bottle of champy is going to be a bit rare soon, ey? Let us imbibe one final time!" 

I hummed. He wasn't wrong, "But there's nothing to celebrate, is there?" 

"It's the end of the fucking world," he barked a laugh at me, moving already to fandangle the foil out from around the cork. "D'you need a finer reason to drink!?" 

"Just for now," I said, pouting, but trying hard not to let a grin crawl across my lips, "I think I'll let you get away with that."

So when he offered the bottle, I took a swig of it. It burned going down, and it tasted awful…but I took a second swig, and a third, and Gary was just staring at me like a dead fish, so I offered the bottle back. 

For a second, he took it; looked at it, rolled the neck of it around from palm to palm. 

Set it down. 

The bandages on his wrists were long since gone, as scars healed over and turned pink and white. His jacket sleeves kept his arms covered, but when he sat, with his knees up and his arms out over them, sometimes I could get a glimpse of the marks where they rode up. 

That night I could see them, and they weren't pink and white - they were fresh red. New marks, too - thinner than the cuts that must have landed him in hospital. 

I drank some more. 

"Mate," I said, too softly to get Gary's attention. I spoke up, "What have you done?" 

He looked at the bottle first, and then at me. Those red, gleaming eyes, glistening in the candlelight of the barn--

I was weak; cradled his head to my shoulder and leaned my chin on his forehead. He felt hot, but that might have just been because it was human contact, and there was precious little of that around these days. 

"Stress relief," he said at last, and his words were even and honest. "Had to feel something."

"God's sake, Gary. Couldn't just have a wank?" We sat in silence for a moment. It was the end of the world, and he'd done much worse, so I tried to put my own grievances with his coping mechanisms aside. "Help any?"

I could feel him shake his head beneath me; a pause before he said,

"No."

He took the champagne from my hand, craned his neck back to down the remnants of what I hadn't already drank - would have been at least a couple of glasses worth left in there. 

He coughed, stuck out his tongue at the bitter strength of it. 

And then I became acutely self-aware: I was watching him lick the drink from his lips. I was watching the way his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed and was hyper focused on the expanse of neck showing above his jacket collar that was so milky white and unmarred - the complete opposite of his arms.

He noticed me staring, or I think he might've. 

"Andy…"

He knew I'd always loved him, or maybe I was fooling myself. 

"...Make me feel something."

I closed my eyes; breathed hard through my nose. "Steven and Sam are right over there."

He hummed, and though I couldn't see him, I know exactly the look he would've had when he said, "I think they've turned in."

That monkey-like confidence. I wanted it too. 

Maybe the champagne had given me courage - maybe it was the fact that I could be dead any day now and the future of humankind was a black hole of uncertainty - but I found myself lowering my head in tandem with my hand rising to his chin. I don't remember what I was thinking at that split second--

But I let my teeth drag over his jawline, let my tongue lap at the stubble under his chin. He gasped, and it was beautiful, as disturbing as it is to admit it. The noises he made spurred me on; I nipped at his neck - I just wanted to give him a mark that could mean more than what he'd been trying to get from the cuts on his arms. 

I really, honestly hoped…that the bruise I left could help him feel what he needed to feel. 

He grabbed my wrists. 

He looked so pathetically sad...but he still had a ghost of a grin on that stupid face. Like the clown in a Shakespearean tragedy. The orange light of our lantern accentuated every knick and wrinkle under his eyes. 

I studied him for too long.

"Not what you had in mind?" I tried disarming him with what humor I had in me but it only seemed to make his eyes glassier.

"We really fucked up, didn't we?" he said. I was floundering to agree with him - I hadn't done much of anything to provoke the end of the world, I thought. 

I ground against him, suckled the shell of his ear. 

"Haven't you got a wife?" 

I sighed; snorted a laugh as I looked at my ring. After all this, he was trying to be considerate? Honest? I don't imagine he was above cheating on his lovers, or helping others to cheat, and the last thing I needed was a reminder of her, _ or _ of his selective memory to kill the kind of mood I was in: that night, I was feeling brave. 

I hadn't gotten off in months--

So I did what I'd always wanted to do - what I'd stopped thinking about wanting to do after the accident, even though, if I'm being truthful, I'd dreamt about it once or twice between then and now. 

Gary was like a drug in my system. 

He'd broken me; gotten me to drink again after twenty years, so why not indulge in Gary again too. 

I didn't want to be tender about it - God, I tried to hate him. When my fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his trousers, I really tried to hurt him like he'd hurt me so many times - I wasn't delicate about hauling the elastic of his briefs below his balls, nor the dry-handed grip I took on him. 

But he was used to pain and misery, and I think it's what he wanted; immediately threw his arms around my shoulders and dragged me into loose hay until I was properly on top of him and able to get him hard more easily. 

And it _ was _ easy. 

He bucked into my hand shamelessly, he startled me. I held him tighter; was practically sitting on his legs to keep him still while I repeated the motions - up and down, over and over while he mewled at me. 

"Please, please," he begged-- 

He _ begged_, like it was practiced, like a proper whore. I'd never asked him, but I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd sold his body in the past to raise money for coke and booze. It seemed in character. 

He strained to sit up, to breathe hotly against my neck, and suck on my earlobe. All I could do was close my eyes and focus on the sensation of it. 

"Andy," he purred, "fuck me." 

I remember breathing hard, then, because I remember nearly blacking out, as though having had my tongue on him, I'd absorbed the champagne he'd drank through his skin. I thought about pretending to faint solely so I could avoid what I knew was inevitable--

That I was going to be inside of him and that he was going to forget about it in the morning.

He bucked his hips up into me again, and I was hard and crazy and wanting - even more so when his fingers ghosted over my fly and he said "please" again. 

It was cold, so we kept our clothes on. 

All I had to do was unfasten my fly and spit into my hand - Gary already had his trousers down to his knees, ass up, face down and buried in hay like an animal in heat. 

It was really something else. 

_ That _ was _ fucking_. 

Primal, violent. Exceptional. 

He sighed out - pure _ relief _ \- when I pushed fully into him. He was loud, but though I tried, I hate to say, I was too. It'd been a long time coming, I guess. I thought about how over the moon for him I'd been in secondary: how much I admired him in so many ways. I thought about the accident, too - I couldn't help it - and I grew angry. There'd been so much wasted time.

He rocked his hips back into me and I grabbed him by the shoulder, threw him into a chokehold as I lifted him to me and fucked up into him.

"Is this what you want?" I'd growled. He nodded against my cheek, _ yes yes yes _, he'd have said if I'd let him. 

He was hot. 

He was tight. 

He was speechless, which was a sizeable turn-on. 

"Is it good, Gary?" I hissed, and bit another bruise into the back of his neck. 

"Fff_uck_\--!" he whined, chest heaving. 

Arousal was coiling in the pit of my stomach - that familiar feeling of impending release. So, I did what I'd started off with, and took the great Gary King into the hand that wasn't presently choking him; pumped him hard and fast until he was jerking uncontrollably against me--

Drooling against my arm, like I was drooling against the nape of his neck. 

"Gary--"

I came. 

Fuck me, it was better than anything I'd ever felt - better than the wife. Better than the women before her. Because it was Gary. 

And Gary arrived not a second later, gasping up at the rafters as I grounded him; held him against me, sweaty as I was despite the cold. 

We only got colder the longer we stayed there, still pressed together, soppy wet and disgusting. 

"Chuck us a cloth," he wheezed.

I grabbed him the nearest rag I could reach as I pulled out and admired the mess at my knees. 

"Thanks."

He got up off the ground, kicked his pants off and slung them over his shoulder; walked bare-ass outside in the cold to have a fag. I didn't follow him. 

I was too tired to care.

  
  


  
  


That morning I woke, alone, to the crackling of the fire outside and light, familiar chatter. Sam and Steven were boiling water for tea, but startled at the sight of me. 

Sam spoke first, and with that sheepish smile of hers, I knew what was coming. 

"Good night then, champ?" 

"It was a mistake," I sniffed. 

I'll never forget that look of understanding, her kind, blue eyes - Steven's a lucky guy. "Andy," she'd said, almost sad, "no judgment. After everything that's happened, a bit of stress relief is-- well, it's only natural." 

_ Stress relief_. 

At the time I'd hoped that maybe I could help him - maybe we could both get just a little fix of comfort. Twenty minutes of escape. It was good while it lasted, but I think in the end it just left me as tired and scarred as Gary was. 

"It won't happen again," I said plainly, maybe a bit miffed. 

I showed her: the local map that Gary had taken from - I don't know, a pub, maybe a gas station. He'd left it beside me with the used rag; circled the closest estimation of our barn's whereabouts in blue, and highlighted the path out of harm's way back to London. 

"He's gone." 

Steven got to his feet, then; joined Sam in adding a supportive hand on my shoulder. 

We waited two days in that barn to see if he'd show up, but it was crystal clear, at a point, that Gary wasn't coming back. 

I don't know if Sam was all that broken up about it. I think Steven felt a bit betrayed. Whatever we were feeling - about Gary, about the Network… 

…We decided to walk it off, all the way back to London. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please scream at me about Cornetto movies on Twitter @riachinko


End file.
